


Folie à Trois

by Hambone



Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Emotional crisis, Incest, M/M, Pretense of Interrogation, Shame and Degradation, Sticky Sex, Voyeurism, light Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-26 08:13:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1681181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hambone/pseuds/Hambone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The forest holds many more dangers than Sentinel had ever warned them of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Folie à Trois

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally a lot lighter than it came out. Oh well, you get what you paid for!

Earth was amazing. The sky was so big and open, no buildings or spires reaching high enough to impede their flight. Truly, this was the meaning of freedom.

All it had taken was some creative wording to Sentinel.

It wasn’t really lying. They were indeed scouting out Detroit and its surrounding areas, and they would most certainly report something if the subject came up. Yes, it was true their motivations lay mostly in having fun and working out their thrusters a bit, and yes, it wasn’t exactly the proper protocol for patrolling that they had all agreed on, but they were still out flying around as they said they would be.

If they had had any worry regarding Sentinel discovering their slight deception, it melted away as they passed out of the city limits. _Nature_. It was a word that struck terror into the sparks of the average Cybertronian. Their Prime himself warned them off it frequently, but that only spurred their curiosity. After all, they had not met a challenge yet they could not surpass together.

After the first ten minutes of forest had passed beneath them, Jetstorm was dutifully impressed.

“So much organics poles!”

Jetfire laughed over their comm. connection.

“Organic poles are being called trees. Did you not pay attention to Mr. Jazz in even smallest bit?”

Immediately taking affront, Jetstorm swerved as if to hit his twin. Already anticipating the maneuver, Jetfire easily looped up and out of his path.

“Maybe because I am not so loving of Mr. Jazz as you, brother!”

Now it was Jetstorm’s turn to laugh as his brothers engines stuttered with embarrassment. Jetfire sent him a little shock over their bond, the equivalent of sticking out his tongue in mock disgust.

“Maybe because you are always standing with servos up exhaust port instead of thinking, _brother!”_

They circled one another for several more minutes, trading insults easily, weaving back and forth across each other’s jet streams. The day was warm and clear, and they had not a care in the world between them. Eventually they slowed to a lazy glide, lowering down to burn their way over the treetops with dull interest.

It was such a strange planet. There was so much diversity in the life there, the terrain. Nothing on Cybertron could compare to the swift changes between water and valley and mountain, sand and mud and rock that they passed over now. Even this forest, so supposedly singular, was a writhing landscape of various meadows and thickets, clearings filled with startled deer giving way to fascinatingly deep swaths of overgrowth.

Unfortunately, they were still young, and the beauty of this alien world couldn’t manage to hold their awe and curiosity for more than an hour.

“I am betting you will not touch yourself to ‘tree’!”

“Fah,” Jetfire scoffed, dipping down in the same instant to pointedly smash his nosecone through the lighter foliage of a treetop as they zipped over, “then you are more stupid for it!”

Jetstorm bumped playfully against a thruster.

“Not being how I mean _, stupid!”_

“Then how is it you are meaning?”

The bump prompted a momentary lapse into wordless chicken, each smacking around the other a bit until the humor in it began to thin and genuine annoyance trickled in to fill its place. A particularly hard shove sent Jetstorm barreling right through the canopy of pines. Jetfire laughed, racing forwards, hoping to outrun his brother before he could right himself.

He succeeded. Jetstorm did not pop back up through the trees immediately after him. Nor did he return within the next few minutes.

Then, Jetfire was nearly five miles away from where he’d left his brother, and Jetstorm had yet to appear. This was when the worry set in.

“Brother? Do not sulk because I am better flyer!” he called down their bond, hoping his concern wasn’t immediately obvious. The taunt was met with no response and his spark fluttered nervously. That was foolish, though, because this was clearly a prank, wasn’t it?

“Brother?”

We went back. There was no clear pain or upset coming from Jetstorm’s side of the bond, but there wasn’t much of anything coming through at the moment. The branches were still broken where he’d fallen. Jetfire had no difficulty transforming and falling right through the patch, landing on a pile of damaged foliage. Jetstorm was nowhere in sight.

“Do not be making me do this,” Jetfire tried again, feeling now that the trees were far bigger than they’d originally assumed. They were not too close to prevent his walking at all, but movement wasn’t as easy as he’d have liked. There was no clear trail in the dirt and detritus around the crash site, too much regular organic interference to make much out of anything, and Jetfire could not force himself to pick a path.

“Brother!”

The fear slipped out, clear and grating in his voice. It echoed unsteadily through the forest for a moment, sunlight shifting in uneven patches along the ground as his cry shook the trees.

A branch snapped and Jetfire spun around, but he wasn’t quite fast enough and before his visual sensors could readjust he was slammed to the ground by an unseen force. He struggled, pinned by a great weight, and his spark lit up with apologies as the bond reopened and-

“You are really being quite scared, brother!”

With a wordless shout, he reached up and slammed his fist down hard on Jetstorm’s head.

“Yes! That was most cruel!”

Jetstorm’s grip around his shoulders slid from a defensive clutch to a real hug.

“I am sorry.”

Not quite ready to forgive him, Jetfire awkwardly crossed his arms under the bulk of his brother’s chest and looked away. He couldn’t hide his relief, but he was really, really angry.

“You should be! I was thinking you were damaged by organic acid creatures like Sentinel is saying. You would not be finding it so funny if this were really taking place!”

“I am not finding it so funny now,” said Jetstorm, pushing his face against Jetfire’s and nuzzling him apologetically. Jetfire did not quite relent, but his resolve softened, arms and frown wilting against the onslaught of affection.

“Yes you are. I am feeling your smile in neck.”

Jetstorm pulled away; face as solemn as could be.

“You are being wrong. See?”

Jetfire appraised him a moment.

“Well,” he said, voice stern, “I cannot be angry still.”

A smile cracked on Jetstorm’s face.

“After all, it is not very nice, yes, to be being mean to stupid bots!”

Despite the crackle of shock and annoyance produced by the reply, Jetstorm’s smile only grew.

“Shut up!”

They rolled over each other, a far more amiable tumble than the one that had gotten them into their quarrel in the first place. The organic mix of leaves and twigs and mud beneath them crackled and popped, squished in between their plating in a way that was both wonderfully new and horribly itchy.

Jetfire sprang to his feet, pushing off into the thicket before Jetstorm could regain his balance. Laughing, stumbling, he tried to stand, fell once, and then made it to his feet just in time to catch the last little burst of orange being swallowed by the trees. He pushed off behind him, dashing madly between brush and scrub, light on his feet. The crunch was too loud; he had to stop every few kliks, listening for the answering call of his brother’s footsteps.

Then, they stopped. It didn’t keep him back for a little while, calling gleefully that he would be caught eventually, but after a while his pedes slowed. Eventually, to a halt.

“It is not so funny to be doing the same trick twice, I am thinking!” he called, still happy but a little less so.

“This is the first time I have played it, though!”

The moment he registered the words, a wave of emotion slammed into him through the bond. He whipped around, weapons engaging, and was nearly met with a face full of ice. His attempt to dodge was only semi-successful, the crowded forest floor not firm enough to support his full weight and he slipped, landing flat on his face but avoiding the shot.

“What is this, now? Two of you?”

The Decepticon stepped out of the brush, Jetfire clasped firmly to his breast by one arm. Jetfire, squirming like hell, emitted a small burst of flames every few seconds, but the Con holding him hardly seemed to notice, adjusting his grip into an even tighter squeeze until it felt his plates would collapse in on themselves. His pain echoed in Jetstorm’s spark, and he rolled into a defensive crouch, firing a blast of air directly at their assailant’s face.

Crouching low, the Decepticon easily evaded the attack, his own shoulder cannons swiveling down to fire another blast of ice. Attempting to jump, Jetstorm slipped on the carpet of dead leaves again, only saved by his own thrusters engaging. There was a great rustle of moving trees, the Decepticon crying out in a rage as Jetstorm timed a burst of wind along with his ascending, hurling a snapped branch from his earlier fall directly into his shin.

He was trapped, though, unable to truly flee while his brother was still in immediate danger. There was a brief whir of a transformation cog, but rather than fully change into some form fit to give chase, the cool blue faceplates of the Decepticon spun and reset in an angry red.

“I’m going to snap your puny Autobot legs right off and feed them to you!”

He made a grab to the jet’s foot.

“You are going to be having to catch me first, Decepti-scum!”

He dove left, hoping to swing under the giant’s feet, but his movements were anticipated. A treaded leg kicked directly in his path. He wasn’t quick enough to avoid it, but he did manage to bounce immediately at the point of impact, propelling himself back along the clearing and away from Decepticon clutches. Unfortunately, he had forgotten to account for the density of the woods.

His back collided with a tree, hard enough to crack it nearly in half. He cried out, stunned momentarily, and in the moment the Decepticon swooped. He saw it coming at the last second, sliding down just enough to evade the purple fist that finished his work in cleaving the tree in two. His movements weren’t nimble enough to completely slide past the hulking form above him, but it had the benefit of placing him right next to the squirming frame of his brother.

“Jetfire!”

“Brother! Go up!”

Without a second thought he fired a blast of wind down, engaging his engines simultaneously, and slammed his shoulder directly into the Decepticon’s gut. He felt the polyglass of his cockpit crack, heard his surprisingly high shout of rage, but the body above only moved a few feet off the ground before slamming back down. He tumbled out from under it, but before he could again regain his composure, something grabbed his leg, hard.

“You should have made your escape while you could, Auto-brat!”

Again, a whirr of his T-cog, and the blue face was back.

“Now, however, you will not be given another chance.”

Arching his back, Jetstorm clawed at the hand on his leg, only to gasp in pain as he was squeezed until the metal plating began to buckle. Jetfire too cried out, signifying that he wasn’t the only one being punished for misbehavior.

“Yo-you’re not going to be going away with this, Decepticaahhhh!”

He was squeezed again, though still it only crumpled the plating, an attack meant to threaten but not eliminate. In a last ditch effort, he tried to send out a distress signal, reeling back as he was met with screeching static. Seeming to know what was going on, the Decepticon smiled.

“That would be my signal blocker. Lord Megatron has outfitted all of us with them, for this exact reason. You are not going to be informing your Autobot friends about this any time soon.”

Cocking a cannon down at either one of them, he pulled Jetfire from his chest to hold them both at an arm’s length. Jetstorm’s caught his brother’s optics briefly, panic mounting in his chest. A weak packet of comforting data sluggishly pushed through their bond, but both of them recognized it’s futility in their current situation.

“Oh? Now, what’s this!” The Decepticon’s face again shifted, this time into a rather unnervingly deformed black mask.

“You’re twins!” with that he burst into laughter, shaking them so hard in his hands the air was knocked from them both.

“How cute! Oh, you’re just like little clones, only better!”

Jetstorm, who was still hanging upside-down by one leg, curled his arms around his head in an attempt to cushion his brain from the rattling cackles. Jetfire burst into flames, grabbing the hand on his waist and jetting two streams of heat up his arm.

In an instant they were flat on their backs, the Decepticon looming over them again red faced and enraged.

“Don’t even try to mess with me, you copy-cat slag heaps! Where did you get the Decepticon coding you’re flying around with!”

Dazed, they could only stare.

“Answer me!”

He shook them again, with less waving about and more crushing this time. Jetstorm cried out as something in his leg ruptured.

“Brother!”

Jetfire convulsed, beating on the hand that held him while sending out pulse after pulse of white heat. The Decepticon roared in pain, whipping them both back into the air before slamming them decisively down. The impact winded them both, Jetstorm taking the brunt of the blow and going into a brief systems reboot.

“If you even think about attacking me again I will ensure the pieces of your charred chassis will be so spread around these woods they will never be able to identify your corpses!”

“That is big talk for single lone Decepticon!”

More shifting, and the blue face was back.

“You speak as though I am not holding you both down with one hand.”

His words were vacant, as if he were distracted. He looked between the two, augmented optic focusing in tight, though on what could not be determined.

“One hand _each!”_

 It was a poor comeback, but it was all Jetfire had. Beside him, he felt his brother stir.

“True, Autobot, but that does not change the fact that,” whirr, black face, “you’re twins!”

Taken aback, Jetfire paused. Jetstorm pushed himself up on his elbows, wincing as the movement sent a flare of pain up his thigh.

“WH-what is it being to you, Decepticon creep?”

“Ooh, look at that!” the Decepticon squealed, dragging Jetstorm down so that he lay side by side with his sibling. “You’re almost identical! Adorable!”

Jetstorm bucked and hissed.

“Adorable?”

“We will show you how adorable we are being when kicking your skid plate into scrap metal!”

“Oh!” the Decepticon clasped his hands over his spark chamber. Before either twin could work up the energy to move, he had them pinned again.

“You even finish each other’s sentences!”

“Why are you caring so much!”

Still the more coherent of the two, Jetfire attempted to take command, putting on his bravest face. For better or worse, this seemed to illicit at least some reaction, the Con’s faceplates again rearranging themselves to the blue form.

“Just a point of interest.”

His tone made them uncomfortable. Jetstorm, who was stuck on his side, squirmed a bit, trying to right himself. He hand holding him pressed down harder and he gasped sharply.

“You still have not answered my question. Where did you get that Decepticon flight tech, and who upgraded you with it? Surely you could not have done it yourselves.”

Jetfire scoffed.

“You do not think we would really be telling you this?”

His bravado faltered, though, because as he spoke the Decepticon began to smile.

“Not without some persuasion, I’m sure.”

A little too quickly for his own tastes, Jetstorm piped in.

“You cannot be capturing us, like this! We are too much for you when in the air and I am not seeing you with stasis cuffs!”

“What makes you think I will not just do my work here?”

A sharp claw trailed down his side. Jetfire felt the touch through their bond and winced.

“You would not be so stupid, even for Decepticon, to be thinking we will not be found first!”

“This is true, Autobot,” began the Con, almost bored, “which is why I have a proposal for you.”

They both shrank at his words, though they did an admirable job of hiding it. Unfortunately, he could feel them, the little jitters in their electromagnetic fields warm against his palms.

“What is being…proposal?”

The Decepticon’s wings tilted a bit at that, smile briefly widening.

“Assuming you mean that literally, brat, I will answer in a way even your stunted processor can handle.”

Jetstorm tried to interject, but was cut off as he continued.

“A proposal means that I am offering you a chance to get out alive.”

The twins eyed each other, wondering whether or not he could be believed.

“My terms are simple. Either I deactivate you both and bring your empty shells back to Megatron to be examined, or you do me a favor and I let you live another cycle.”

He shifted a little, as if uncomfortable, but his face remained neutral.

“Do we have a deal?”

Outrage was the immediate response.

“We do not do deals with Decepticon criminals!”

“There is no way we will be helping you with your illegal activities!”

The face switched back to black, although only as a vehicle for a quick fit of laughter. Then, the red face reemerged.

“You do not even know what my favor is yet, puny Autobot drones! Do not reject my terms before even hearing me out!”

They shrank down. The blue face returned.

“So, are you willing to listen to my proposition?”

Jetfire shrugged awkwardly.

“Is this being same thing as proposal?”

A short chuff.

“Yes. And this is what I want: in return for my allowing you to escape with your heads, you two will…have a little fun with me.”

“Fun?” Jetstorm wrinkled his nasal ridge.

“I am not seeing how much fun can be being had with crazy three face Decepticon other than the shooting of.”

Whir. The black face.

“There will be some shooting involved, but not the kind you are thinking of!” with that he broke off into another mad fit of cackles, jerking his hips forward as best he could in his hunched over crouch. The twins shot each other a look, and a questioning packet of data.

“Are you meaning…”

“…adult fun?”

Another roar of laughter.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know!”

Despite themselves, the twins grew hot with embarrassment.

“We are knowing about interface, Decepticon!”

“We are even having done it! Probably more than dry old rust heap like you!”

Leaning in close, the hellish grin cracked to allow an unnaturally long tongue to swipe at what passed for lips. They stuck up their chins, but had to avert their optics from the bright glare of light spilling from the split.

“With who? Each other?”

Again, the glanced at one another. It wasn’t the best idea, but they couldn’t help themselves. Rearing back, the Decepticon howled.

“Talking so big but only having kissed your brother! Is that what are they teaching you in Autobot school, hmm?”

Gaining back some of his earlier sizzle, Jetstorm growled lowly.

“You are one who is odd one in! Old bot Decepticon, wanting to be playing slip’n’slide with little Autobots!”

The Con baulked at that, switching rapidly between the red and black faces before finally, thankfully, settling on blue.

“The reason for my desires is irrelevant. Do you accept my terms, or do I have to bring you back to Megatron cold?”

Though the exciting discourse had again roused the twins from the depths of fear, they were not too young and arrogant to recognize how bad this was getting. They simultaneously sent each other a packet of code with essentially the same message.

_Stall him until help arrives._

Hoping, of course, that it would. Let it not be said they were ever ones for pessimism.

“Y-yes, mister Decepticon, sir.”

“We will do interface with you.”

The Decepticon’s chest swelled, seemingly proud of himself for this accomplishment. He sat back on his haunches, pulling them both up with him and into his lap. His hands removed themselves from the twin’s waists, but kept a keen hold on one arm each. His thighs were bulky and awkward, and they slid down slowly in an attempt to position themselves better. It ended up knocking them both together in between his thighs, and they both winced at the heat that met them there.

“You do not have to call me ‘Decepticon’. My designation is Blitzwing.”

Jetfire huffed. A little puff of smoke escaped his lips, and Jetstorm snickered quietly.

“We are not going to being the ‘buddy-buddy’ with you, _Decepticon_.”

The hand on his arm constricted with such sudden malice that he hardly had time to gasp before it was over. Nothing was permanently damaged, but in that one moment of pressure Jetfire’s pain receptors had lit up like a Liberation Day sky show. The release allowed his systems to react, a slew of warning messages exploding behind his optics, and though the pain was now receding, he finally cried out.

Jetstorm reached out to him with his free arm, damaged leg sparking in sympathy. Though Blitzwing did not relinquish his hold, the loosening did allow access to a small portion of the now crumpled plating on Jetfire’s forearm, and his twin moved to soothe the wound without even a hint of hesitation. Blitzwing, black faced, cackled cruelly at the sight.

“Auh, look at your tiny little hands! Do you want to kiss him better, huh, huh?”

“I think you should refer to me with whatever name I want, Autobot.”

His grip tightened again, though only in warning. Unable to help himself, Jetfire shivered. Though their excitable nature and bravado spoke differently, they understood the graveness of their situation. The Starscream simulation had taught them that much.

Hunkering into one another, they set their jaws and gave him the sternest look they could muster. It did not seem to do much more than excite Blitzwing further, as evident by the heat collecting slowly in between his thighs. He looked down at them with a quiet, contemplative expression, as if deciding what to do next. His stare lasted far longer than either of the twins cared for. Finally, tempted to temper far more easily than was wise, Jetstorm spoke.

“Is your idea of interface, to just be staring at our fresh-metal bodies?

Though it was meant as an insult, he couldn’t keep the hopeful lilt from his vocalizer. Blitzwing smirked.

“Not entirely.”

He pushed them together.

“You said you had interfaced with each other before. Let’s start there.”

“What?”

While they eagerly clung to one another upon contact, the twins both were aghast at the idea of simply performing like that.

“Do not ask stupid questions. Keep in mind that the alternative here is my having your sparks.”

They pressed together, uncertain and unwilling. Still, this was better than the Decepticon simply going at them, they knew, and it did fulfill the simple purpose of stalling until that time came. Sentinel had to be noticing they had been gone far too long by now, right?

Wordlessly, they turned fully to face one another. Jetfire shuttered his optics, sending out a comforting pulse as he nuzzled into Jetstorm’s neck. The first few moves were chaste, simple expressions of affection with nothing more behind them. It was not unusual for them to begin this way, but now it was meaningful, the much needed comfort they both were embarrassed to ache for at a time like this. They half expected Blitzwing to be angry at their slow beginning, but the gentle caresses seemed to please him just fine.

Jetstorm’s free hand strayed low, wrapping around Jetfire’s waist and pulling him into a more comfortable embrace. He fell into it easily, and their mouths finally connected. Again, it began as a simple, comforting kiss, but the feeling of Blitzwing’s optics upon their backs drove Jetfire to deepen it, and Jetstorm to follow, until their tongues were twining around one another and little wet hums were the only thing escaping their lip-lock.

“Good, good.”

Blitzwing was hunched over them, a position that seemed relatively awkward, but he didn’t seem to mind. The blue face, as always, seemed serene and mildly disgruntled, but his words were spoken softly enough to reveal his true enjoyment of the scene. It sent a shiver of disgust down Jetstorm’s circuitry, but his brother merely pushed on, using his arm to grip his aft and pull them nearly lap to lap. Blitzwing rumbled low in his throat.

“I-is this to your liking, Dec-Blitzwing, sir?”

Chuckling at the near slip, Blitzwing nodded.

“It is certainly acceptable, though I am going to become bored soon if you continue this way.”

He said it lightly, but they recognized the threat inherent. Returning to their kiss, they conferred silently.

_I am not wanting to interface for him._

_If we do not, he will be making us do with him._

_I know._

Sliding his grip on their arms down to one hand each, Blitzwing shifted a little, plating growing tight. They knew because they were so close to his crotch now that they could acutely feel the heat and strain of his internal mechanisms. Fear prompted their hands to move lower and bolder, not really aroused by the touches but relieved as the field of their captor rippled with amusement.

“Open up already! I do not have all day to just sit here with you brats!”

Startled from their embrace, the looked at him with bright, fearful optics, a strand of solvent breaking between their lips. It wasn’t fast enough.

“If you aren’t going to do what I tell you, then I am going to _make_ you do it!”

All at once, he rose forwards, slamming them both down beneath his bulk. Though the movement forced him to release them, the thought of escape was momentarily stunned away. It hardly mattered, because the next moment he was on them again, clawing at their panels with the rage and determination of a drunk. Jetfire kicked his knees up in defense but Jetstorm, reflexes slowed by his injury, could not quite move to escape him.

“Mister Blitzwing, sir! Stop!”

But it was too late, the enormous blunted servos already finding their mark and moving in to rub at it roughly. Jetstorm was far too streamlined for the Decepticon to reach between his seams, even though he was on the larger spectrum of Autobot classes, but he could feel Blitzwing gaining at least some traction there, pushing his panel inward until it began to hurt.

Jetfire reached for him, too frightened to react in any way other than instinctive desperation. Jetstorm swatted uselessly at Blitzwing’s hand, trying to close his legs despite the pain. In a moment of pure altruistic terror, Jetfire threw his own legs apart, baring everything.

“Blitzwing, sir, come for me! I am open, here!”

Whether or not he recognized the diversion, Blitzwing took the bait. Jetfire cried out as he was set upon, a finger already tracing the rim of his valve and the casing of his still collapsed spike. The stimulation made him buck away, but he kept both hands on his thighs, holding himself spread because he needed to stay that way, to take the punishment that had been meant for Jetstorm. Of course, neither of them was safe.

An ungentle finger probed his spike housing.

“What, to touch your brother is not enough, hmm?”

He tried to wriggle away, but Blitzwing held him down with one hand, tickling the tip of his servo against his flattened spike. He grits his dental grill, hissing at the sensation. At his side, Jetstorm gripped him tightly.

“N-no, it is you who is problem!”

He instantly regretted saying it, Jetstorm growing taught next to him.

“Then perhaps I should return to your brother,” Blitzwing started, just to see him jump, “but I think you are lying.”

Another pointed jab of his finger and Jetfire could not deny that he was experiencing some physical reaction, small as it was. His hips shifted uncomfortably, sensors pinging to life inside his pelvic span. His spike was already pressurizing, valve growing bright and swollen as Blitzwing’s thumb circled it in a rough, tormentingly inconsistent pattern.

Just when he knew he could no longer hold his lubrication system back, the touches stopped. He hardly realized his optics had been shuttered until that moment, but the nano-klik he opened them he was suddenly flailing about in the air again, albeit briefly. Blitzwing, black faced, pulled his spread thighs towards his nightmarish maw, extending that ungodly tongue between his pointed teeth. Jetfire didn’t even have time to panic before mouth met valve, and the tongue slid, slippery and horrible, through the folds of his most tender bits.

Jetstorm wriggled at his side, phantom sensations hurtling into him through their bond. Jetfire wanted to apologize, even though he knew he had no real fault in it, but he could not get his vocalizer to produce more than short, sharp whines and gasps, hands immediately falling to cover his face, mortified.

The charge built quickly, then, his spike pressurizing in a single, clean burst, bobbing straight into Blitzwing’s waiting fingers. They instantly moved to pinch and rub the shaft between their significantly greater girths, and the added stimulation finally broke Jetfire’s stunned silence with a howl. Still haunted by the Decepticon’s ghostly touches, Jetstorm bit his own palm to stifle a high moan, thighs squeezing together in a weak attempt to tide the flood of unwanted pleasure burning his inner circuitry.

With a lewd slurp, Blitzwing disengaged; face changing as soon as his tongue was safely back in his mouth. Keeping his hold on Jetfire’s calves, he moved to raise one knee in a kneel, interface panel separating and sliding back. His spike was thicker than either the twins had hoped, although realistic. Jetfire keened in mixed terror and unwilling arousal, Blitzwing’s solvents mixing with his own lubricant as his valve calipers widened in preparation.

“Wait! W-wait, wait!”

Blitzwing whistled between his gapped teeth, glancing at Jetstorm with a bored glaze.

“You’ll get your turn, Autobot.”

Though Jetfire remained blown beyond speech, ventilations quickening in panic, Jetstorm managed to retain some poise, half sitting up on his elbows to look the Decepticon in the optic.

“You’ll break him! Kill him!”

“I do not think so, brat.” Blitzwing removed one hand just long enough to pat Jetstorm on the head patronizingly.

“He certainly looks wet enough to me, no?”

Stuttering, stalling, Jetfire scrambled for purpose.

“He-he is not big enough!”

Blitzwing contemplated his prospects. At first, it seemed he was going to be angry with Jetstorm, but then his expression shifted.

“If you believe this to be true, why don’t you help me?”

He lowered Jetfire’s legs, turning him slightly towards his brother.

“Prepare him for me.”

Jetfire, bleary with fear, looked up at his twin, helm swaying on his neck. Jetstorm seemed lost between his thighs.

“Or should I…?”

Blitzwing’s low tone launched Jetstorm into action. He hurled his arm around Jetfire’s waist, a hand pressing to his valve a he doted apologetic kisses all along his abdomen. Jetfire moaned as gentle fingers breached him, the support behind his spine pulling him upwards into the slow thrusting with the ease of long practice. Blitzwing’s solvents still soaked the area, but Jetstorm recognized Jetfire’s arousal, could smell his own lubricant mixing thickly in the wet sheen against his thighs.

Their audience was moving towards impatience, obviously enjoying the show but filled with desire to act on it. Jetstorm moved quickly and efficiently, stretching Jetfire until he bit his lip in discomfort, backing down only until he was relaxed enough to try again and again. There was no possible way he could prepare him enough, not for something like _that_ , but he could at least removed the immediate fear of puncture or splitting. He sorely, sorely hoped.  

Just when electrical charge had begun to lace Jetfire’s shivers, Blitzwing tugged him away. Jetstorm hopped back in ungainly surprise, fingers ripped painfully from his brother’s valve. Sitting up away from him, Blitzwing adjusted Jetfire over his lap, positioning the tip of his spike manually. Jetfire could not even struggle, allowing his legs to spread and embrace their fate.

He pushed in slowly. Optic closing, lips parting in a pleasured sigh, Blitzwing let the tip of his spike rest against the lips a while, just to feel the warm, wet opening quiver around him. Then, ever so gently, he pulled Jetfire down.

“Ah, wait! Wait, wait, Blitz-sir, wait, stop-!”

The head popped inside. Jetfire wailed, almost certain he was dying, and Jetstorm tried, and failed, to rise to his feet, knees knocking as pain and pleasure and heat melded behind his own paneling. Blitzwing growled, cycling through his faces several times before landing back on blue, pulling and pulling until Jetfire was beyond stuffed, fit to burst around him, shaking and tight, helm falling back, mouth open and panting, silently shrieking at the burn.

Jetstorm could only watch. He knew he could escape now, fly back to the Earth team, to Sentinel, alert them of Jetfire’s location and condition, but at the same time the very idea of leaving his brother like this made him sick enough to purge. Blitzwing would be angry if he left. He had Jetfire at his mercy. He could kill him.

Why had no one come? _Why wouldn’t anyone help them?_

Blitzwing thrust upwards and Jetfire cried out, arms struggling to get a healthy grip on the Decepticon’s broad waistline. His chest bumped repeatedly against his smooth cockpit, and he had to turn his head away because he could see his own reflection there and was disgusted by the look of cross-wired pleasure perverting his features.

Bracing himself with one hand and holding Jetfire in place with the other, Blitzwing set up an erratic rhythm, lifting his own hips off the earth to pound into him like a toy. Jetstorm, still pathetically curled around himself, moaned feebly at each stroke, unable to fully ignore the bolts of phantom interface crawling up his spine with each thrust. Would he be next? Could he really hope that he wouldn’t and still live with himself, knowing he had escaped only through his twin’s selflessness? The misery only solidified as Jetfire tried, weak and distracted, to reach out to him silently, comfortingly, as if he could actually take some solace in his being saved.

Jetfire’s thighs shook loosely, trying to find some purchase on Blitzwing’s hips but unable to acquire a good enough hold as he was bounced violently. Occasionally the Decepticon’s faces would switch, the pattern of thrusts growing more or less furious, sometimes slowing to an almost painful degree, others so fierce and inconsistent that he felt his mind itself was going to break apart beneath the mad cadence.

The pain was so great he could not imagine overloading, but he did, a sick squelch of fluids bubbling out between them as his optics rolled in their sockets. Blitzwing, red and angry, snarled in delight at his weakness, throwing himself fully into his work. Jetstorm wrung his hands.

When Blitzwing came, it was terrible. His ever shifting expression slammed flat onto black, cruel mouth twisting wide in untamed glee as he forced Jetfire down on his spike and held him there, transfluid rushing out between them in a hot burst. Jetfire screeched again, kicking his feet against Blitzwing’s stomach until he was finished. Simply pulling him up off his spike and releasing him, the Decepticon reclined contentedly.

Jetfire fell like a sack of lead. Rushing to his side, Jetstorm, wracked with guilt, flung his arms around him, unsure whether he was offering defense or repentance.

Too soon did Blitzwing recover.

“Don’t think I’m finished with you, tiny twin number two!”

Laughing, he clawed his way to his knees again, reaching for them with an animalistic fervor. Jetstorm parted his lips as if to plead one last time, but both of them were silenced by the distinctive cut of a shot in the air.

Birds swirled up around them in a great black cloud, and in the hole of sound they left the crackle of treads on mulch became immediately apparent. So did the voices.

“I’m going to fire those two when I find them! The straight boot, no questions asked!”

“You don’t mean that, Sentinel.”

“You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if he did.”

The last was the voice of someone who thought they were being quiet but clearly weren’t. The following series of offended noises from Sentinel only proved the hunch.

Blitzwing, too sated to really want to deal with battle at the moment, sighed, brushed himself off a bit, transformed, and jetted away. The resulting cacophony of echoes amid the trees drowned all other noise for a klik.

Jetfire was trying to sit up on his own, panel shut but still leaking. The evidence of their shame was everywhere. Jetstorm, supporting his brother against his chest, tried to use some of the leaves and grasses around them to wipe him down, but the results were less than desirable.

There was an unintelligible bought of babble from the approaching vehicles. Then-

“Bumblebee, wait!”

-and the roar of small tires tearing through organic sludge rose and peaked, the yellow hatchback emerging with explosive gusto from between the trees.

“He was just here,” he was shouting, transforming mid-flight and landing with a messy skid across the clearing. He had almost missed them, but not quite. Jetfire struggled to cover himself, but it was too late, and Bumblebee was already looking, seeing, gawking with his jaw agape.

“Bumblebee?” Optimus called, approaching fast, Sentinel surely hot on his heels.

“What is it? What did you find?”

But nobody answered him.


End file.
